


Pareidolia

by Holly (spaciousbear)



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Ghost Photography, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Garden of Light, Psychological Horror, Referenced Suicide Attempt, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaciousbear/pseuds/Holly
Summary: Sing thinks Eiji is doing better, that he's gotten used to his quiet new life in New York. And it's true, for a while.When Eiji suddenly sees a ghostly image of Ash in one of his photos, he's certain it meanssomething, but Sing isn't convinced - that is, until strange occurrences and terrifying dreams force him to consider the possibility that something is haunting them after all.
Relationships: Okumura Eiji & Sing Soo-Ling, Okumura Eiji/Sing Soo-Ling (one-sided)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 46
Collections: The Not-Asheiji Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the NotAshEiji Bang! I wanted to explore a bit of a darker look at Eiji's state of mind between the end of canon and before Garden of Light, Sing's increasingly complicated feelings for Eiji, and his guilt about Ash. I've also been wanting to write a spooky ghost story for a long time, so this idea was born. 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful artists who worked with me on this! Art from [Kimi](https://twitter.com/kimixiii) and [Xylo](https://twitter.com/XYLOshachar) coming in future chapters. <3

_Everything would be fine if Ash would just open his eyes._

The fluorescent light overhead made a buzzing sound, low and resonant, which got louder the more Sing tried to ignore it, casting a bluish, unnatural light over the whole room. The room was cold. Of course it was, he told himself, this was where they kept them. It was cold. It smelled sterile, of chemicals and death. 

“It’s all right. Take your time.” A woman’s voice, patient but distant. 

Her voice snapped Sing’s attention back to the task at hand. He’d been staring down at his feet, lost in thought. Avoiding looking, avoiding what he really needed to be doing. He raised his eyes to the body on the table. 

In death, Ash looked peaceful - angelic even. Sing wanted to take some comfort in that, to detract from the sickening reality that burrowed beneath his skin and raised it to goosebumps as he looked down on him. Through all the static, one thought repeated through his mind like a refrain. 

_Please, just open your eyes._

His voice was thick as cotton stuck in his throat and it sounded foreign to him when he did finally manage to speak. 

“Yeah… That’s definitely him.”

Sing remembered distinctly the moment he knew Ash Lynx was dead. The proof was laid out in front of him on a cold silver table, the reason clutched between his trembling fingers. 

Death claimed many of the people Sing held dear when he was young. None had hit him so hard as Ash. 

Shorter’s death had been buried beneath a fervor of adrenaline, and Sing pushed through his grief with the suddenness of responsibility. Lao, he mourned alone. 

The process to identify Ash was clinical and detached. He spoke with a coroner, who was polite and professional but lacked any warmth. He signed a bit of paperwork and was sent on his way. For a while he wandered, aimless, lost in thought, and then he finally returned home and called Eiji. 

None had been as bad as Ash, until Sing learned that death wasn’t the worst consequence of the life he led. 

For a while there was only chaos. Obligation was a beast with many hands, all of which dug their claws into Sing and pulled him in a hundred directions at once. 

Ash’s death left a vacuum, a void in the power structure that many were ready to vie for. Chinatown had reached its lowest point and it took all of Sing and Yut-Lung’s combined efforts to reestablish any stability at all. And then there was Eiji. 

Eiji returned to New York in a blaze of denial and pain. 

Others tried to help him, at first - Max did what he could, but Eiji resisted the comforting refrains he tried to offer. Ibe, the man Eiji traveled back to New York with, was little help and soon returned to Japan, alone. No one knew how to get through to him. They could see Eiji’s pain, but they didn’t understand it. 

So Sing looked after him. He cleaned out the old condo Eiji had shared with Ash and dumped its contents into storage, out of sight. He found a place for Eiji to stay, kept him company during the uneasy transition. He’d even honed his nascent cooking skills when Eiji started to look far too thin, sickly with grief. 

For a while, it was chaos, but chaos could be tamed and controlled. And after a while, chaos turned to normalcy, in small steps he could hardly trace when looking back. As time moved on, the nights quieted as Eiji’s cries in the night stilled, became less frequent. Eiji opened up, bit by bit, to the new home he had chosen for himself. 

And in this delicate stability they’d forged together, the years passed. 

* * *

It was a bit of a routine they had, Sing and Eiji. 

Morning coffee, the pot already hot and brewing by the time Sing rose. Sing spent most of his day occupied, with work, with school, and when he reached the apartment in the early evening and opened the door, he always knew what to expect. Eiji would be there, somewhere in the vicinity, his presence made known by the smell of a meal cooking, the sound of dishes being cleaned, the shuffling of pages and the low hum of music while he relaxed on the sofa with a book. 

Moving in to a new apartment had been a change, but things had remained familiar. Eiji opted for another two-bedroom, which brought with it the unspoken invitation for Sing to stay. It was good, he thought, that Eiji wasn’t seeking to cloister himself in solitude. Company was still welcome. Sing was still welcome.

Life with Eiji was quiet, comfortable noise. When he heard the clinking of dishes, the gentle rhythm of music, there was always an initial moment of relief. Things were okay for another day. It was routine, but Sing had heard that routine was good. 

So when Sing opened the door and was instead greeted by silence, his mind rang with possibilities. 

“Eiji?” he called out. His voice echoed, with no white noise to temper it, seemed so much louder than normal. There was no response. 

Eiji, he reasoned, was probably out, maybe picking up groceries or running other errands. Maybe he’d decided to spend the afternoon taking photos and lost track of the time. Sing moved inside further, the rapid pace of his heart quickening with each step. 

“Eiji-” he began, but cut himself short. He breathed out a sigh of relief. Eiji was sitting in the living room, staring down at the items spread out in front of him. Most of them were photos scattered across the surface of the table, among them an ancient camera that had been unearthed from storage during the move. In his hands, Eiji held one photo. 

“Sing, I need for you to see something.”

There was an energy to him that was hard to place. Eiji had recently been reinvigorated with a new kind of enthusiasm for his photography. Maybe the change in scenery had done him some good, dusting off the old photography equipment and allowing him to make use of it once again. 

“Sure, what do you have here?”

Eiji sometimes enjoyed showing Sing his photos, but this wasn’t a display of innocent pride in his work. Eiji’s face was tired, his eyes dark with worry. 

“It’s a photo of Ash.”

Sing straightened, kept his eyes on the array of photos rather than Eiji’s pained expression. This was where he needed to tread carefully, how this conversation went could determine the course of Eiji’s mood for hours, even days. 

“Okay… what about this one in particular?”

Eiji set the photo back down on the table and fixed Sing in a long stare. 

“I took this one two weeks ago.”

Sing felt like he had been plunged into a well of freezing water, his blood icy and still. He gave himself a moment to consider his response, to reaffirm that he had in fact heard correctly. 

“That’s not Ash,” he said, looking away from the photo on the table. He instead met Eiji’s eyes, not quite defiant, but confident in his assertion. 

“I would know Ash when I saw him. I am not making a mistake.”

The way Eiji’s confidence matched his own caught Sing so off-guard that he was compelled to look again. The photo was a shot in the park, peaceful enough, but nothing that seemed particularly special. There was a spattering of people walking, going about their days, but it didn’t take long for Sing to locate the figure Eiji must have been referring to. A young, tall blond man was among the crowd, his face pale enough so as to be translucent. 

“That’s not Ash. It’s just someone who kind of looks like him - not even really that much.”

Eiji pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn’t appear to be surprised by Sing’s response. 

“You do not believe me because you don’t want to see it.”

“Eiji, I need you to understand that Ash is-”

“Yes, I know,” Eiji cut him off before he could finish. “I don’t want you to say it. I don’t think he’s… here. In that way. But maybe it means something.”

Sing breathed in. He could deal with this. He just needed to remain firm. 

“All it means is that New York is full of white, blond men.”

He didn’t mean for the words to sound cruel, to come across so biting when he said them, but it was better to shut this down before it got any worse. The impact was felt anyway and Eiji’s face fell, whatever hope he had been harboring struggling under its weight. 

Without another word, Eiji stood. He cast one more wayward glance at the photos before he moved past Sing, cold and withdrawn, and left the room. Sing considered following after him, but didn’t - sometimes it was best to give him space to work through things on his own. 

The photograph was still on the table in front of him. Without Eiji’s watchful eye, Sing looked down at it once more, stared at the man in the picture. It was a chance encounter with a stranger, that much Sing was sure of. What he hadn’t noticed, in his first look, was the dark turtleneck and trench coat the man wore that tugged at the corner of his mind, threatened to peel away and reveal something he’d kept covered. What he tried not to see was the pale, almost imperceptible hint of green from his eyes. 

  
  


That night, Sing had the dream again. Most of the time, his dreams were blurry fragments of recollection, but this was distinct, vivid, like a living film reel he couldn’t stop from playing. 

When Sing first dreamed about Ash, it was years ago, when the wounds from battle were still fresh and had not yet faded into scars. It was steeped far into the well of Sing’s memory and it forced him to drink. 

In it, he’d stood in the morgue, its frigid air and white sterile walls more confining than a prison cell. He was looking down on a figure that was so familiar to him, a pale doppelganger that Sing had known was impossible to see here - because he’d known, in the certainty of his young, naive mind, that Ash Lynx was invincible. He’d stayed, frozen in the exact same awestruck horror he’d felt that day, staring down at the same peaceful smile that spread across Ash’s face. It was exactly as he remembered it. 

But it couldn’t be quite right, because in the dream, Ash’s eyes were open. Their vivid green was dulled, greyed out by the glassy veneer of death, but they sparkled with a certain awareness of Sing’s presence. Sing could feel them watching him. This wasn’t right. He needed to leave. And he wanted to, wanted to back away and run, but his legs wouldn’t allow him the freedom to move. 

Ash’s smile shifted as he parted his pale, cracked lips to speak. 

“Eiji…” he’d said. His voice was sandpaper and rattling bones taking form in a whisper. “Make sure Eiji is okay.”

Cold coiled itself around Sing’s wrist, a vice that felt like fingers gripping him in place. 

He snapped his arm back from the grip without daring to spare a look and forced his body to turn, coaxed it into taking a few labored steps towards where the door should be. But as he examined his surroundings, he could see that there were no doorways, no exits - the walls were empty, lined instead with shadows. Shadows, he realized, that he knew. Rather than dark, wispy imprints along the perimeter, these dark figures were precise in their shape, and Sing immediately recognized them as the outlines of people he’d known in life. His friends and allies. Shorter. Lao. 

Against his better judgment, he reached out, let his hand slide across the smooth surface where Shorter’s silhouette stood. It towered over him, so much bigger than he remembered in life, and when he pulled his hand back, the pads of his fingers were dusted with an inky, sooty substance. 

He needed to find a way out. When he turned back, the table was empty. Ash’s body was gone. Heart racing, Sing twisted and pounded at the wall, hoping for any kind of escape. 

The shadows moved then, swirled along the periphery of his vision and circled him, their dark silhouettes always just out of sight. Sing whipped his head to look but their movements were too frantic to keep pace with them, the room itself may as well have been spinning. 

In that fervor, he could feel it. A presence just behind him, lingering. Sing halted his motions, but refused to look back or face it. A cold weight settled on his shoulder - maybe a hand - and the back of his neck tingled with the pinpricks of icy breath. 

“You have to go.”

Only then was Sing free to escape, to wake up again. 

In the trickling light of the morning, Sing could still feel the pressure around his wrist, the grip of Ash’s hand. The first time he’d dreamed it, Eiji’s flight back to New York had been set to land that morning. Sing was waiting for him at the airport when he arrived. 

When he dreamed it for the second time, he dismissed the cold lingering around his wrist and hollow warning in the back of his memory, tried to push it from his mind as he rose from bed, and went about with his normal routine.


	2. Chapter 2

Eiji avoided him the rest of the week. 

At first, Sing tried not to think too much of it - he’d been a bit harsh with him, sure, but it was more important he keep Eiji grounded. Sulking aside, Eiji seemed to be handling it well enough. They’d argued before; giving him space was usually the right call. By the end of the week, though, things were as prickly as ever. 

Over that time, their routine had shifted. Mornings were far more quiet, as Eiji was often gone already close to sunrise. The light was best then for photos, he’d told Sing without meeting his eyes. It helped you capture moments you might otherwise miss. 

Sing didn’t argue. It was good to see him getting out, after all. 

Maybe the changed atmosphere of the new apartment was helping him open up. Maybe getting out and being inspired to take photos was doing him some good. Maybe it meant nothing at all. He hadn’t said anything further about the photo, but Sing was certain that it had somehow triggered this strange manic energy in him. Eiji also hadn’t outright said that he was avoiding Sing, but he wasn’t saying much of anything at all. The few times they’d crossed paths were terse, filled with a quiet tension that neither acknowledged. 

Whatever it was, Sing imagined it had to be better than the alternative. Knowing Eiji was keeping himself occupied was a weight off his shoulders, but it did leave the apartment much lonelier than before. 

He had more than enough to keep him distracted while Eiji gave him the silent treatment. Classes were busy enough that he barely gave it a second thought the first couple of days. When he went to the gym in the afternoons, he lingered a little longer, a little less concerned with getting back right on time. A few evenings out of the week, he helped out at Chang Dai, kept his answers vague whenever Nadia asked after Eiji. 

When he came in through the door, he tried to pretend that the silence didn’t bother him, that Eiji’s absence in the apartment wasn’t just a little bit disconcerting. He tried not to remember the times before their comfortable routine, what that kind of stark silence could mean. 

Usually Eiji was home by the time Sing arrived back at the apartment, but often had shut himself into his bedroom. He didn’t emerge for the rest of the night. Sing though, at first, this was a natural shift from waking at sunrise, that he was falling asleep much earlier, but a bustle of activity behind the closed door told him that this wasn’t necessarily the case. 

Some days, Eiji seemed like a ghost haunting his own home, the only signs of his existence the lingering warmth of the coffee pot long after it had been shut off and the movement of items throughout the house. 

Sing kept up the routine. Eventually, things would get back to normal and he’d apologize once the dust settled. 

It was a week after their argument when the quiet finally proved to be too much for him. Sing didn’t expect much when he knocked at Eiji’s bedroom door. He was surprised, then, when the door opened, just a crack. Eiji peered back at him, expectant. 

“Eiji, um…” Sing tried to think quickly. He hadn’t anticipated Eiji answering so easily and hadn’t quite prepared what to say. “I picked something up for dinner. I’m not sure if you’ve eaten yet.” That much, at least, was true. 

“Thank you, Sing.” Eiji made no motion to move. Sing lingered, for a moment, uncertain how much further he should press. 

“Did you want to come out and join me?”

“I…” Eiji’s eyes flickered with some acknowledgment before darkening again. “Maybe later.”

“Sure,” Sing said through a joyless smile. “I’ll be around if you change your mind.” With a quiet click, Eiji’s door closed on him once more. He let out a slow, frustrated sigh. 

Sing returned to his room, mind drifting quietly along the conversation. It was early still, but weariness was settling over him. He set his keys onto the desk and stretched out onto the bed, absorbed in the quiet of his surroundings. 

Until now, the apartment had been a pocket of something domestic and stable. The outside world was a separate place. But in the newly formed quiet, he noticed things he’d never taken in before. 

They were far enough away from the closest subway line to afford them privacy and less of a crowd in their street, but close enough for convenience. Close enough, as it turned out, for it to cause a subtle but distinct tremor throughout the apartment whenever it passed nearby, causing for a slight rattle of any loose items on his desk. The sound was easily covered up by the sound of the TV, or music, or even quiet conversation. Sing closed his eyes, waited for it to pass. 

It only took a minute for the quiet to settle in again, but the slow whirring rattle of his keys on the desk drew his eyes back over to the desk. 

It wasn’t obvious, at first, and Sing might not have noticed if his eyes hadn’t been focused on that precise spot, but the top drawer of the desk was ajar, just slightly. Out of instinct, Sing reached for the key he kept, on a light chain around his neck. He almost never took it off, left it unattended, let alone left the draw itself open. As he moved toward the desk, he tried to recall the last time he had opened it, reaffirmed to himself that he had, indeed, locked it again. 

Inside were several items he’d intended to keep safe, to himself. On the top were several folders worth of paperwork - mostly innocuous, often things he’d kept track of for Yut-Lung. Beneath that, a gun. Just in case, he told himself, it never hurt to have one hidden away. Beneath that, another layer of paperwork, mostly there to mark what was really sitting beneath it, what he actually wanted to hide. Eiji’s letter to Ash, entombed beneath it all. Sing shuffled through the contents of the drawer; everything seemed to be in place. He breathed in, tried to think. 

Sing knew that no matter how much it felt otherwise, he was still a guest in Eiji’s home. Still, the thought of Eiji rifling through these items unnerved him. He hoped he’d at least stopped once he’d seen the gun, taken it at face value, and left the rest alone. 

The newfound accessibility of the gun unnerved him as well - thinking on it, he removed it from the drawer carefully, set it aside. He’d have to find a different place to hide it. 

  
  


In the dark, desire pooled within Sing. 

He shifted onto his side in the bed, tried to ignore it the best he could. 

No sooner had he readjusted his position than he felt something brush against his cheek, light and delicate. Fingers gently settled against the skin, cradling his face, before traveling back and threading themselves through his hair. He could feel the warmth of someone’s mouth against his. 

He allowed himself to sink deeper. The touch was comfort, warmth, familiarity. Through the kiss, a hand trailed over his abdomen before dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers grazing against the sensitive flesh. He let out a relieved sigh and leaned into the contact. It took a second for any of it register as strange, for him to feel alarmed by the touch. When realization settled in, it jolted him out of the moment.

He sat upright, seized the hand by its wrist and pulled it away, drew back to where he could make out the presence there beside him in the bed. Eiji stared back at him, wide-eyed, a shade of himself in the dark. 

“Eiji,” Sing said through a harsh whisper, the quiet of his tone more shame than secrecy. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

Eiji didn’t speak. He stared at Sing for a moment longer, a vacant smile spreading over his face. 

“This is what you want, right?” Eiji asked, and his voice was so different, so unlike Eiji’s normal warm and gentle tone. This was cold, hollow, it rang like an echo, and Sing instinctively recoiled. “That’s why you’re still here, why you’ve stayed.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“He can’t do anything about it now. It’s only the two of us here.” Eiji let the comment hang there between them, the ‘he’ unspoken but understood. 

As Eiji spoke, gentle droplets began to fall. Sing could feel them dripping down onto him, like rain, and he tried to raise his eyes to search for the source when Eiji reached out and gripped his face once more to hold it in place. 

“No. Don’t look,” he warned, his eyes wide and alert. 

Instead, Sing wiped at the moisture that had accumulated across his brow. His hand was slick with something warm, thick, and Sing felt a churning nausea of uncertainty at the implication. When he held his hand out to look, it was dark with blood. Eiji’s face didn’t reflect the same shock Sing felt at the sight; he took Sing’s hand between his own and examined it briefly before he raised it to his mouth. He let the bloodstained fingers drag across his bottom lip, leaving a red stain across the pale skin. 

He parted his lips then and let his tongue trace along the blood-soaked line of his fingers before taking one of them into his mouth. All around them, a soft rattling began to sound. It was like the quiet jostling of the train passing by, except that it didn’t abate the way it should have, its volume increased with each passing moment. Soon he could tell where the sound was concentrated, that it appeared to be coming from the door, a force so strong shaking it that it threatened to come off of its hinges. 

“No,” Sing protested, choking back a sob and the bile that was rising in his throat at the sight of Eiji licking the trail of blood off of his lip. Eiji leaned forward, until he stopped just beside Sing’s ear. 

“Shhh,” Eiji cooed, the warmth of his breath stark against his skin. “He can hear you.”

Without another word, Eiji turned Sing’s head towards him and pressed his mouth against his lips. He tasted of metal, the coppery tinge of blood still lingering on his tongue. 

He woke from his nightmare with the ghost of a scream lingering across his lips, like a trail of blood. It was still dark, the time indeterminate.

Sing reached over to his side to ensure that he was alone in the bed and, instead of attempting any further sleep, waited quietly for the morning light to arrive. 

* * *

The next few days passed in an increasingly familiar pattern. Sing would rise, go about his day, and return to the apartment in the same manner as he had been. And still, Eiji would keep himself closed off. He’d hoped that reaching out to Eiji would have broken the ice enough to put it behind them, but the tension persisted. 

Eiji wasn’t one to hold on to a disagreement for long, so his lingering coldness was jarring. He wasn’t coming to Sing, wasn’t meeting him halfway any longer, but he’d been willing to open the door. It wasn’t much, but it was something. 

If there was one thing Sing knew, it was how to adapt to his circumstances. So Sing knocked on his door, each following night.

Eiji hadn’t cooked all week, hadn’t even bought groceries for himself, but the food Sing brought home for him had quietly disappeared. Sing began to pick up takeout on his way back home, chose carefully from Eiji’s favorite spots. 

The old routine wasn’t working anymore, so he had to improvise. 

The door always opened for him. At first, a crack - a tiny, fleeting peek into his friend’s space. Each night, the door opened a little more, a little longer. Whatever grudge Eiji had been holding for Sing’s initial blunt reproach was being chipped away at by Sing’s sheer persistence. 

And one night, it was only Eiji’s voice, a low murmur on the other side. 

“Come in. It’s open.”

Sing turned the handle, pressed in like he was breaking a seal. Eiji wasn’t looking to the door when he crossed the threshold, instead focused on the spread of photos laid out in front of him. 

This had gone on for long enough. Sing cleared his throat, searched for the right words. 

“Eiji… I’m sorry if I was harsh with you the other day. I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

Eiji remained silent, hovering over his photos. Sing was certain that Eiji had heard him and was holding his silence. The vast array in front of him caught Sing’s eye. Maybe there was a better approach. 

“What have you been working on all this time?”

At this, Eiji finally sat up straight, alert to Sing’s presence, his eyes slowly turning upward to meet his. 

“I have been… visiting. All the places I could think of.”

And there certainly were a variety of locations in the photos. Some of them were in the park, others taken from street corners in the seedier and oft-forgotten parts of town. One had even been taken out by the ferry dock in Jersey City, the red and orange hues of sunrise spreading across the skyline of the city in a shot that Eiji must have left so early to capture that it may as well have been the middle of the night. 

“So this is where you’ve been all day,” Sing said, sincerely impressed by the ground that was covered. “It looks like you’ve captured almost all of New York here. Are you working on something specific?”

“I’ve been going to all of his favorite places.”

Sing paused, looked over all of the photos again. 

“Who?” He didn’t need to ask; he already knew. 

“I thought that maybe…” Eiji cut himself off, and a searing sting of helplessness overcame Sing. 

“Eiji…”

“Nothing has shown up since then,” Eiji continued. “Not since that first picture. I don’t even know if I’ve gone to the right places, if I’ve remembered them all. I feel like I’ve looked everywhere.”

“Almost everywhere,” Sing said before he could stop himself. He shook his head to ward off Eiji’s wounded expression before it could take shape. “Forget I said that. I think… if Ash was trying to tell you something, he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t make you go back there.”

Eiji turned his attention back to his photos, ran his fingers across the edges, wistful. 

“There has to be something I am missing. Something more.”

“Missing?”

“Like… a sign. Or something.”

Sing nodded quietly, his eyes following the lines Eiji’s fingers traced. If he had to play along to get Eiji talking again, he could adapt to that too. 

“What kind of sign are you looking for?”

Eiji looked at him, his expression a desperate, shameful plea. 

“Please don’t make any jokes.”

“Eiji, I swear… I might not understand this, but no matter what, I would _never_ make fun of you. I want to understand. Help me, okay? What are you looking for?”

“I guess something that tells me… It’s okay. That it’s been long enough and it’s finally time.”

Sing startled at the statement, a warm rush of relief touching him. Sing hadn’t considered the possibility that maybe Eiji was finally processing things, coming to terms with Ash’s absence, however unusual the process may be. If realizing it was time to move on meant chasing his own shadow, Sing could live with that. 

He briefly remembered the ghoulish and terrifying apparition of Eiji that had appeared in his nightmare, his accusations. He tried to shake it away; that wasn’t why Sing was there. But the idea of Eiji moving on with his life did offer some peace of mind. 

“If there’s something Ash wanted to tell us,” Sing said, his voice a low hum against the silent background. “I’ll make sure we find it. I promise, Eiji.”

Eiji stared at him, his expression softening to relief. He didn’t respond, but he did reach out, grasped at Sing’s hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. 

“Now please come out and eat something,” Sing continued. “You’re getting too cooped up in here.”

“I’ll be out soon. You go ahead.”

Sing hesitated. Soon usually meant not at all, but he didn’t want to press too much for the night. He moved to leave, taking a few paces before pausing in the door frame, turned back to face Eiji. 

“Eiji, were you looking for something in the guest room the other day?”

Eiji met his eyes, his expression innocently curious. 

“No, I wouldn’t go into your room without letting you know. I’ve told you before, you are entitled to your privacy when you are here.”

“I know, it’s… forget it. I had been looking for one of the books I’d been using for school and it wasn’t where I thought I’d last left it. I must have misplaced it and just forgotten about it.”

Eiji nodded and Sing backed his way out of the room to settle in for the rest of the evening. Something still didn’t sit quite right about Eiji’s assertion, and he couldn’t quite place the discomfort. 

He did check the lock on the desk drawer at least three times before he could sleep that night. 


	3. Chapter 3

Midtown was busy, a cacophony emerging from the crowd of people going about their day to day lives. 

It matched, well enough, with the quiet chaos running through Sing’s mind. 

Sing spent a lot of his day in transit, between here and Chinatown. His school’s main campus was nestled among the titans of skyscrapers lining the streets and it was a familiar kind of chaos, but none of it ever felt as much like home as when he stepped off the line and found himself back on the streets he knew best. 

He cut out a bit earlier than normal, waved off any attempts from his fellow classmates in good-natured chatter that would keep him any longer than necessary. Today, he took a longer route to the station, took his time walking and tried to clear his head. 

Maybe it was his deteriorating sleep, the strange dreams he couldn’t make sense of that had been clamoring around in his waking hours. Maybe it was the strain that been tugging on his interactions with Eiji, despite their presumed reconciliation. He suspected that Eiji knew Sing wasn’t quite convinced, despite his offer to help. His limbs felt heavy and exhaustion weighed down on him. 

And maybe whatever had gotten into Eiji’s head was starting to affect him as well, because when he looked up again, he could have sworn that he could see Eiji a few blocks’ distance away. 

The figure turned a corner and was out of sight before Sing could evaluate any further. Maybe it was because of the extra time he had to kill, but he found himself going off course, pursuing the same direction he had seen them walk. 

It didn’t take him long to catch up, even less time to realize that his initial assumption had not been a mistake. Eiji was moving through the street, camera in tow, and was seemingly at work, a bit off of the path Sing expected to see him on, but wrapped up with his mission all the same. 

Eiji led them to the old neighborhood where his and Ash’s condo used to be. He had only been here once, himself. He’d come alone, to remove whatever he could of Ash and Eiji’s things, to determine which things he could risk bringing along to Eiji and which had to remain out of sight. Almost all of it had gone into storage, in the end. 

It was particularly notable how even in the bustle of midtown, Eiji projected a sense of isolation. He was part of the crowd but apart from it, unable to integrate into its fold. And Sing stood outside of it all, observing them both, not quite connected to either side. 

It took him some time to notice that Eiji never focused on the condo itself, he hardly looked in the building’s direction at all. His old home was his vantage point, the perspective from which he saw things. Sing’s eyes wandered to the building, lingered over the large windows that faced the street. 

There was a flash of movement from behind the window, and Sing couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. A strange, residual paranoia, he assumed; this used to be Corsican turf and even in the years after Dino’s takedown, he rarely tread through it without reason. 

Sing paused, considered following him further, overwhelmed with curiosity about Eiji and the way he was burying himself into this. He twisted on his heel and almost took the first step. No, he had already seen enough, anything more would be too invasive. 

He parted from the spot, in the opposite direction, and left Eiji to his own devices. 

  
  


Sing was back at the apartment by the late afternoon. Eiji was at work, he could tell, developing his photos and so he situated himself in the kitchen and started to get to work himself. 

He had taken to cooking at home for the last few days. He was rusty and out of practice with it, but he’d hoped that the scent of something familiar and homemade might lure Eiji out of his space to join him for a meal. The results of that hope were inconsistent, but he kept at it regardless. 

For the most part he kept it simple: fried rice, or some dumplings, but tonight he chose to prepare something even more basic. A batch of congee, something he knew Eiji liked, something that was easy to get down, something that was soothing and warm, the exact kind of feeling he wanted to convey with his offer to share. 

In the last week, Sing spent most evenings sorting through dreary scenery photos with Eiji. He knew that finding anything that might satisfy Eiji was already a long shot but it was beginning to look hopeless. Eiji wasn’t shutting himself away as much now that Sing was helping but there was still a strange, intangible barrier there. When he was sitting at the table, poring over a recent spread, Sing kept quiet so as not to disturb him. 

While he prepared the food, he could hear the door open - the photos were developed and ready for scrutiny. Sing watched the congee on the stove bubble for a moment longer before he grabbed a spoon to ladle it into the bowls. 

When Sing came into the living room and Eiji was sitting at the table, bright-eyed and manic with focus. He set down the bowl of congee and Eiji didn’t even glance in its direction, too enraptured with what was in front of him. 

In the silence, Sing watched him. Eiji looked exhausted, beyond the point of running on fumes and Sing felt an instinctive pang of concern. But his attention was soon diverted, because Eiji had his focus on something in front of him, one of his newest photos. Sing approached him and leaned over his shoulder to take a look at the picture in front of him. 

He was certain they’d reached a breakthrough. He didn’t care what it was - he was exhausted and needed it to come to an end.

The photo was surreal - it was the city he knew but unlike how he’d ever seen it. Light cast a shimmering veil over the buildings, colored with a reddish hue. The cooling air of the evening had created a mist in the air, settling amongst the people scattered in it. In the center, one of the buildings with its walls of windows, reflected the light back in a single brilliant burst. 

It made for a pretty picture, but Sing could see the components at play. Specks of dust caught in the gleam of the late afternoon sun, creating a misty haze over the scenery. 

It was breathtaking. But it wasn’t supernatural.

“Eiji, this is beautiful. I’d like to tell you not to sell yourself short. I think you made the picture look this way.”

“Do you think I made every other picture I take what it is?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“The subject makes a photo. It’s nothing I’m doing, it’s what they already are.”

Sing jostled at the statement but didn’t argue with him any further. 

“Do you think this is what you’re looking for?” he asked instead. It was hard to tell where Eiji was leading him, but Sing allowed himself to be led. 

Eiji let his fingers drift, lightly pass over the glossy surface of the photo. It lingered over the pillar of a building, the flash of light. 

“What do you see here? What do you think it looks like?”

“I…” Sing hesitated. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing and throw everything off track. “I guess it kind of reminds me of a lighthouse.”

“I think so too.”

He didn’t elaborate. He stopped there, as though the answer was as clear to Sing as it had been to him - it wasn’t, but he did seem satisfied which seemed as good an opening as any. 

Sing gently pushed the bowl over, across the table, until it was clearly within Eiji’s line of sight. Eiji looked at it, then over to Sing, his expression softening from its fervid determination to a quiet gratitude. 

“Thank you, Sing. For everything.”

* * *

The most frequent dream Sing had about Ash echoed through the years, played out as dark ripples in his mind. It reappeared every so often, to remind him, to make sure he never forgot. 

It began in a maze that wasn’t really a maze but rather a funhouse approximation of the library. It looked enough like the way it did in actuality to draw him in, the edges of reality blurring more the further he ventured. Around him, rows of impossibly tall bookshelves twisted in labyrinthine towers. There were no pathways, no exits, only dead ends, and so he had to wander. The air around him was buzzing, ringing in his ears, sound reverberating with a low, gentle hum - songlike, familiar. 

At the point where he thought the pathway would never end, he finally reached an opening. 

Above him, a ceiling that was painted to imitate the sprawling skies outside. Ahead, long rows of tables, empty save for one occupant. Ash was sitting there, his head resting against it in repose. The room was busy, bustling with activity, but no one appeared to take any notice of Ash’s presence. Sing rushed to his side - he was bleeding, too fast. 

Without any other option, Sing pressed his hand against the wound, tried to apply pressure even as the blood seeped through his fingers. The crowd of people moving past them thickened as he tried to stave off the bleeding. It was still warm, which meant he still had time. He could still save him. Strangers passed in droves and finally Sing reached out and gripped at the sleeve of a woman walking past. 

“Help,” he pleaded with her. “Please find help.”

But even as the words slipped past his lips, he could see that something was _wrong_. She, along with the others in the crowd, was void entirely of expression, faceless beings who seemed to have no sense of his presence, unable to see him, unable to hear him. 

She slipped from his grasp and continued forward, without acknowledging him. A dark red stain, left behind from his fingers, remained in several dark streaks on her clothing. 

“Someone help him,” Sing found his voice growing louder. “He’s dying!” There was no response, none of them could hear him. He was running out of time. Blood began to pool around his feet, warm and thick. 

The humming became louder with each shout, drowning out his voice. He recognized it now, this phantom song. He hadn’t heard it in so many years he’d almost forgotten it. It surfaced from where it was buried, in a soothing childhood memory, a nursery rhyme that he’d often fallen asleep to, nestled against his older brother. It had always been Lao’s favorite. 

It was so loud it began to hurt. Sing covered his ears, took in a deep breath and poised himself to shout once more-

He woke with a sharp intake of the same breath his dream self had meant to call out with. Stifling the scream that rose in his chest, he released the breath quietly. His heart thumped with remnant adrenaline and he wiped at his dampened brow with the back of his hand. The quiet settled over him, the only sound his breath as it began to settle in his lungs once more. 

Until a new sound interrupted and caught his attention, a faint creak. The slow rhythm of footsteps pressed into the floorboards outside. A few pattered close by until there was a pause, just outside his door. He could feel someone standing there, the way life in the gang had taught him how to feel when he was being trailed, when eyes were following him. After a few seconds, the footsteps moved on. 

Sing knew any further attempt at sleep was futile. The dream had shaken any restfulness out of him and now his curiosity was piqued. He stood and paced over to the door. 

Eiji was the first thing he saw as he opened the door. He was seated at their small dining table, his back to Sing. He wasn’t moving. Sing stepped forward and crept closer, trying to keep his movements as quiet as possible. As he approached, Eiji didn’t startle at Sing’s presence, rather he acknowledged him with a slow turn of his head. 

“Eiji? What are you doing out here so late?”

“I should be asking you the same maybe? I hope I did not somehow wake you.”

Eiji’s voice was a low murmur, his eyes hazy and unfocused. In front of him was a cup of tea, gone cold; it seemed as though he must have been sitting out here for hours. 

“No, it’s fine. I was up anyway.” Sing hesitated. “Do you wake up like this a lot?”

Eiji cupped the teacup between his hands, turned it in a slow rotation, but he did not lift it to drink. 

“Only sometimes.”

Sing couldn’t help but wonder how many nights Eiji had spent like this, staring vacantly into nothing at all. How many times had this happened without Sing having noticed?

“Nightmares again?”

To this, Eiji’s expression shifted into a cold, bitter smile. 

“No. I don’t have nightmares anymore. All of my dreams have been very… happy. Too happy to be real. But then, of course, I wake up. And I remember. It is hard to get back to sleep then.” He paused. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You said you were already awake. Was it a nightmare?”

Images flashed through Sing’s mind, the faceless specters in the library. He felt the hot tacky texture of the blood on his hands and he unconsciously rubbed his hands together to wipe the traces away. 

“No. I don’t remember my dreams. Never really have. I have enough to worry about during the day, I guess.” Sing leaned back in his chair, stretched out, and Eiji regarded him with curiosity. 

“Hmmm. Isn’t that what nightmares are for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone told me… Nightmares are the things we cannot afford to be afraid of in the daytime. That is why they come for us when we are at our most defenseless.”

Sing breathed out a dry, almost silent laugh. He didn’t ask who the ‘someone’ was. 

“I’m worried about you, Eiji.”

“I know. I wish you wouldn’t be.”

The yellow light in the kitchen cast dark shadows over Eiji’s face and it made his already thin, delicate features look hollow. In fact, he looked much more gaunt than normal, the dark circles under his eyes popping out against his unusually sallow skin. Sing looked again at the cup of tea that sat in front of him, untouched, and wondered. When was the last time he had seen Eiji eat, let alone shared a meal with him? 

He’d taken comfort in the fact that Eiji was out of the house, motivated by something, but now he began to see that this wasn’t what he’d been hoping for. He’d been thinking about the days when Eiji was too numb to move, when he seemed to lack the strength even to feed himself. Now he remembered every incident over the last two weeks where Eiji would insist he was too busy, was already on his way out the door or gone by the time Sing could try to check on him. 

He’d tried to hold on to the illusion of routine, but it was no longer working; he needed to try something else. 

“Eiji, why don’t we get lunch together tomorrow? We’ve both been really busy, and it might be nice to take a break for a bit?”

Eiji smiled, a hollow gesture, and Sing already knew he was going to decline. 

“I’m going somewhere tomorrow, I’ll be gone all day. Maybe another time.”

“You didn’t mention you’d be going anywhere before…” Sing watched Eiji carefully as he spoke. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Cape Cod to take some pictures.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sing said without hesitation. They were at the end of the line now, and whatever Eiji was searching for, Sing would see it through with him. This eagerness caught Eiji’s attention and he regarded him with uncertainty. 

“Are you sure? You have classes, and Nadia will miss you at the restaurant.”

“All of that can do without me for a single day. What do you say?”

“Okay. If you are sure.” Eiji’s eyes fell back to his hands against the table, but it felt like they’d finally settled something unspoken between them, that Eiji trusted him enough to include him, that Sing was willing to offer. 

Whatever had been plaguing him for the past few weeks, he would do his best to make sure Eiji left it behind in Cape Cod.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful artwork for this chapter was created by [Kimi](https://twitter.com/kimixiii)! Please go show them your support!

They traversed a city of memory from a city of loss. 

Ash’s childhood home was a town that melted into a collective, a region that made up Cape Cod, neither distinct nor impressive. New York was loud, clamoring for recognition, but Cape Cod slept soundly in the cradle of its insignificance. 

It wore its memories like skin. 

The morning was warm and inviting as they arrived, clear skies that Sing had never quite thought to miss in the city that enclosed him. Here, everything felt open. It bustled with people, much like New York but in a way that felt markedly different. There was a familiarity amongst the crowds, a kind of acknowledgement you rarely found in a city full of strangers. There were pockets of solitude that Eiji led them to, places where it felt like the world was only the two of them in their wandering. 

They walked for a long time, retracing paths Sing never took, in what felt like directionless waves. Many of the places they stopped seemed ordinary, of no significance, save for Eiji’s reaction. Fragments pieced themselves together, into small fractured views into the past. Their route circuitous, Eiji paused to take a photo of an old, gnarled tree. Sing wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been able to find it, this same photo from years prior, with Ash at its center. 

As they moved, stopping every so often for Eiji to snap a photo, Sing found himself appreciating the small things. Crisp air, untainted by the foul pollution he took for granted in the city. The quiet, which was unsettling for a time as neither he or Eiji spoke. 

“This is where Ash grew up?” Sing asked, finally unable to take the thick and oppressive silence between them.

“Yes. He was born here.”

Sing cast a look past Eiji, out to the clear open fields beyond, and smiled sadly. 

“Hard to imagine, it’s so different from New York. Must’ve been peaceful for him out here.”

Eiji didn’t respond immediately but his expression indicated that he was wrong, clouded with inaccessible knowledge. 

“No, not really. Ash did not like his home. There were many bad memories for him here.”

“Then why here?” To this, Eiji paused, thought for a long moment before he responded. 

“ _We_ were happy here, once.”

Eiji stopped there, said no more on the subject. A question began to form on Sing’s lips but he halted it. Maybe it was just as well - a sign of how very little Sing understood Ash, or Eiji, how little he understood the things that transpired between the two of them. 

Eiji didn’t hide things from him, necessarily, but there was a lot he held close to his chest, things he didn’t openly share. Precious things he hoarded, like the soft memories of an Ash only he knew, like the photos he kept in a ratty old shoebox under his bed - a proverbial Pandora’s box. 

“We went this way, to go see out over the town,” Eiji said. “I remember it took all day.”

Sing could imagine it; they’d been walking for hours it seemed, but Eiji’s mood had remained calm, serene. 

“Must have been a nice day for you two.”

“Three. Shorter was there too.”

Sing’s heart startled at the statement. He’d known Eiji traveled with Shorter for a time, but it was rarely spoken about. Another mystery; another small, infuriating clue. 

“I really can’t imagine Shorter out here,” Sing laughed. “He was a city guy through and through.” Eiji smiled fondly at that. 

“I remember him complaining about the sound of the cicadas, that they were so loud. It was no louder than the city felt to me at first, the traffic and all of the people in New York. Just a different kind of loud.”

A contemplative quiet followed, Eiji’s eyes drifting as though his mind was working out if he wanted to continue. 

“Often, he stayed behind. With Ibe and Max, to help them with things. Looking back, I think he wanted to… give us space, I guess. But Ash insisted that we both come along that day, that it was his favorite place to visit with his brother and he wanted us both to see it.”

Eventually, they found themselves by the shore; Sing had never been by the ocean before and he was surprised by the cruel, rocky beaches, unlike how he’d imagined things to be. As they moved along the shore, a brisk breeze sprayed salty mist onto them. He turned to face away, to shield himself from the briny taste of the air, and then he saw it. 

The lighthouse was stark against the horizon, a solitary pillar that led them towards the end of the beach. Even from this distance, its age was apparent. The exterior, which might have once been a vibrant red, was patchy and corroded, faded to a musty brown. Despite how empty their surroundings felt, the sound of laughter carried over the wind, its source impossible to determine. 

“So this is it?” Sing asked. Eiji nodded his affirmation. 

Sing didn’t wait any longer. He walked up to the structure to take a better look. For the first few paces, Eiji was in step with him. But at some point, by the time Sing had reached the building, Eiji had paused behind him. Sing turned his attention, briefly, to glance back at him. He crossed back to where Eiji stood, unmoving. 

“Aren’t you coming?”

Eiji indicated to a sign hanging just before the building: Closed to the Public. No Trespassing. Sing considered the sign, briefly, before passing it briskly, and Eiji took a few long strides to catch up with him. Sing pulled on the door handle, frowning at it as it held steady. 

“Sing, it’s closed.”

“And? We came all this way just for a locked door to stop us?”

Eiji’s face didn’t change, but his eyes did warm with appreciation as Sing jostled at the lock. There was, despite himself, a small nostalgic thrill in doing something so effortlessly delinquent for the first time in what felt like ages. 

He could feel the warmth of Eiji at his side again and his heart fluttered with boyish excitement. He was fourteen again, and their exploratory recklessness had no consequences. 

The door loosened and with a hard tug, Sing pried it open. He was hit with a stale, musty smell immediately and turned his face away while stifling a cough. 

“Looks like it’s been abandoned for a while.”

He stepped onto the first stair experimentally; it gave an unpleasant creak as he shifted his weight. Eiji watched him with curiosity and Sing turned to face him. 

“Wait here. I’m going to make sure it’s safe to climb up, okay?”

Eiji looked like he might object, but Sing stepped inside before he could form his response. The interior was in visible disrepair, littered with trash and rubble from the breakdown of the building over the years. In the middle, a rounded spiral staircase that led to the top floor with a few steps that looked to be cracked and decaying. He tried to imagine it as it was, what might have appealed so much to pull Eiji back to this place, but it was just as broken and lonesome as the rest of his mysteries. 

Before he could move any further, a sound drew his focus from the immediate surroundings. A groaning creak from the stairway leading to the top of the lighthouse, what was unmistakably footsteps, and the sound of a door opening at the top. It was possible he’d spoken too soon; abandoned didn’t mean empty - perhaps they’d crashed in on some frightened stranger squatting in the shell of a structure. 

“Hey,” Sing called out to the echo. Nothing came back. “Is somebody up there?”

Sing watched for any movement and without further prompting, approached the stairs and began its spiral ascent. A few unpleasant cracking sounds roused a small bit of worry as he took the first step, and he paused, breathed in, and kept a quiet mental count of the stairs he climbed to keep his mind focused. 

When he reached the top stair, he was faced with another closed door. Sing tapped at it gently so as not to startle the occupant. 

“Sorry if we startled you, we didn’t mean to bother you.”

There was still no response. Sing wondered idly if he should have thought to keep his gun close on hand as he listened for any further movement. The sound he heard wasn’t what he expected - not a rustling of items, the sound of footsteps. It was a grating, somber buzzing whose source he couldn’t discern. 

He reached for the doorknob and paused, its metallic sheen coated with a crimson layer of corrosive rust, streaming across the surface like it was bleeding. He grabbed the handle and the texture was oddly sticky, warm - the buzzing grew louder. Sing closed his eyes for a single moment and pushed the door open. 

Immediately it all dispelled. The stale smell of decay, the buzzing, the texture against his hand. 

A hand on his shoulder caused Sing to jump and draw in a sharp gasp. He spun and saw Eiji standing there, eyes dark with concern. 

“Sing?”

“Sorry, I just… heard something and came to check it out. Must have been a bird stuck up here or something.”

Residue from the rust stained his hand red. He rubbed his palm against the fabric of his jeans to remove the substance but it only seemed to spread it further. 

Eiji didn’t notice his movement, he had already moved past Sing to the windowed perimeter. Sing finally looked out as well; the windows were layered with dust and grime and he swiped at the surface to get a better view. Through it, Sing could see entire town, its sandy shores, stretched out in front of him - the rolling waves of the tide that was coming in, the glittering pale sand that lined it, the small specks of people enjoying the sunshine in the distance. 

When he turned to find Eiji, he saw that he was facing, not the shoreline, but they town they had emerged from. Sing moved and settled by his side, tried to read his body language which was unusually still. 

“You should be able to see his house from here,” Eiji said, almost under his breath. Sing leaned over to peer out over the town; he had no idea what he was looking for, but the act of looking mattered more. There was silence for a while, and Eiji’s posture slumped, just a little. 

“It’s… not there anymore.” Sing turned away from the windows now to face Eiji and saw that his expression was void of any feeling at all. The sight chilled him. 

“Eiji…” he stopped short, uncertain. There were a number of things he wanted to ask, but he felt a delicate balance at play, one that told him to wait for Eiji’s guidance before speaking. 

“The photos,” Eiji continued. “I have to get back and develop them.” His voice had taken on a muted but frantic pitch, a certain desperation, and Sing nodded. 

“Sure. The photos. We can go, Eiji.”

Eiji quickly gathered his things together once more, took a few steps to cross over to the door once more when he stopped. There seemed to be some kind of realization that was setting in, and Eiji spoke again, his voice low. 

“It’s the last… it’s the last place I thought to look, my last chance to-” Eiji cut himself off, like the energy was suddenly sapped out of him entirely. 

There were only ever two options in coming here: Eiji finding the clarity he needed to move forward, or disappointment. And disappointment, he supposed, was its own kind of clarity. Realizing that there was no grander meaning to anything, that the idea of Ash’s presence, no matter how comforting it was, was only a matter of his own imagination. If he could have given Eiji a sign, he would have. As it stood, maybe this was for the best. A fever needed to reach its boiling point before it could break. 

If catharsis was what was needed, Sing wished it would happen now, surrounded by age and decay, surrounded by the stark reality of the time that had passed and what had been lost. If Eiji needed to cry, he wanted that, if he needed to scream, he’d listen. Sing would gather up whatever shattered pieces fell, but something needed to break first. 

As it was, Eiji did nothing. He stared out over the landscape, his face impassive, his mood unreadable. Sing watched him, looking for any sign of wavering in his eyes, anything that showed signs of a breakthrough. There was nothing, only emptiness, a numbness that signaled Eiji pulling further away from him rather than outward. Rather than towards the healing this was supposed to bring him. 

After a minute of silence between them, Eiji wrapped his arms around himself, appearing cold despite the heat of the day. He turned from the window and walked away, towards the door, and began to descend the stairs again. Sing waited only a moment before quietly following him. 

He remained several paces behind him, allowing him his space even as he kept him within his sight. He slowed as they exited the lighthouse, as Eiji walked away from the building and down to the shore. Eventually, he came to a stop and settled down onto the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest. After some time, Sing followed. 

Eiji sat along the rocky shore, a faraway look in his eyes that Sing was familiar with. Silent, he sat down next to him, placed a hand against his back. When Eiji showed no sign of discomfort with the gesture, Sing roped his arm fully around Eiji’s shoulders, tightened his grip as he could sense Eiji withdrawing. Whatever Eiji thought he might find here, hidden in the shadows of the past, evaded him still. 

Sing didn’t know where Eiji’s mind was as his gaze drifted, hazy, in and out of focus. He did know that his heart was a hundred miles away, buried beneath cold earth. 

There were things he wanted to say, but none of them would help, so he said nothing. For a long time, they sat together, looking out over the water in silence. Eiji was the first to move - he stood and glanced down at Sing expectantly, a look that told him it was time to go home. 

Sing gazed out toward the towering column of the lighthouse, stark against the clear sky, a beacon to guide those who were lost in the dark. He watched as Eiji turned his back to it and walked away.


	5. Chapter 5

It was late when they returned to the apartment, enough that the sun had dipped low and dusk spread with a red glow across the sky as they began their drive back. Their return to New York had been almost entirely silent, and Sing had tried for the hours they passed in the car to find a single thing to say that seemed appropriate. Eiji seemed both restless and withdrawn, his mind elsewhere - thinking ahead, perhaps, to the photos he had taken. Whatever it was, he didn’t vocalize it. Words failed Sing and he fell back into the oppressive silence. 

Eiji immediately retreated to the spacious bit of closet space he used as a makeshift darkroom, and Sing was certain it was the last he’d see of him for the night. He imagined working on these photos might take all night, and Sing could do little than hope Eiji would take a break long enough to allow himself to rest. 

Sing’s mind, in contrast, couldn’t rest. There were too many conflicting things clattering in his mind, noisy and intrusive. Perhaps distraction was impossible, but he at least needed to focus on something. He glanced at the computer that sat on the desk across from him, stared at it for a long moment. Then he pushed himself up from the bed, crossed the room, and sat down at the desk in front of it. 

He started the old computer with weariness. It was another one of the relics that had been salvaged from storage while moving into the new apartment. Eiji seemed hesitant to keep it at first, but it had ignited too much curiosity in Sing to allow it to go unexplored. In here, out of sight, he could at least sate that curiosity. 

There was no shortage of material to peruse. Over the past several months, he’d poked around through the files, a little, mostly skimmed through what seemed like volumes of writing on complex economics, among the simplest topics he saw there. There was so much to comb through it felt like Ash had more thoughts than he could keep in his mind, as if writing them down was the only way to stave off the overflow. It had never been a question to him that Ash was brilliant; still, even he was taken aback at the level to which his knowledge ranged. If there was anything that might pull his mind from the melancholy of the day and ground it back into reality, that might do the trick. 

Before he was able to get very far, he could hear it, that familiar sound of footsteps moving along the hallway. Soft at first, but growing in volume as they drew closer. Sing considered getting up and going to check, though Eiji had communicated - however non-verbally - a desire for his own space for the rest of the evening. Again, like the previous night, the footsteps seemed to pause and linger just outside his door. There was a strange, uncomfortable sense of unease that settled over him, and he cleared his throat to speak. 

“Eiji? Everything all right?” Sing asked, both to gauge his mood and break the tension a little. There was only silence. Either he’d imagined the sound or Eiji wanted to be left alone. Without any response to guide him, Sing turned back to the computer, assuming Eiji would prefer his solitude. 

His hand had brought him to linger over one file in particular while he was distracted. He’d hardly explored every folder or file on the computer just yet, and somehow this new one caught his attention. A file oddly named “Gizmo” seemed out of place among the more logically organized information. He decided to open this first; it was out of the ordinary enough to pique his interest.

It surprised him, then, to see what looked to be at first glance almost completely gibberish. 

It turned out to be a collection of Japanese words and phrases - likely ones he’d heard Eiji use over time - and his approximation of their meaning. Sometimes the context was vague ( _warugaki - he uses this when he’s mad at me, probably means asshole or something_ ), other times it was oddly specific ( _umai - I tried making something for dinner, so hopefully this means it was good?_ ) This makeshift dictionary was colorful and full of personality, a bit of both Eiji and Ash’s coming through in equal parts. 

Sing’s own understanding of Japanese was still rudimentary at best, even with practice, but even he couldn’t help but smile at how quaint these invented definitions were. He recognized Eiji in these words and the moods that often accompanied them, but seeing it put so acutely into words was a surprise to him. He stifled a small, tearful laugh as he lingered over the words; a warmth of residual affection overwhelmed him. 

Another file caught his eye. This one, unlike the others, didn’t have a name but rather a date. February 8. Sing recognized the date: it was printed on the unused plane ticket accompanying Eiji’s letter. The date Eiji left New York. The warmth in his chest condensed into something heavy and painful, it sank into the pit of his stomach.

Sing could see as soon as he opened the file that this was unlike anything else he had stumbled on - this wasn’t an academic essay, it wasn’t the quietly thoughtful notes on Eiji that he had seemed to keep. This was personal, and Sing felt the overwhelming urge to close the file. It was too invasive, he told himself, even as his eyes scanned the words, even as he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

_I’ve been having those dreams again. They’re even more frequent now than they were before. They’re not like any other dreams I’ve had, they’re not memories. I keep wandering down hallways I’ve never seen, rooms that are unfamiliar to me. Doors that won’t open so all I can do is wait. Eiji is there, but he’s far away… like no matter what I do, he can’t see or hear me. I feel like I need to help him, but I can’t figure out how - I can never reach him. He looks so incredibly sad. Sometimes even Sing is there, of all things. He seems so much different. Both of them do. But by the time I wake up, the details have faded and I can’t remember why._

_It doesn’t matter. Tomorrow he’ll be on his way back home. He’ll be safe._

_Once, a long time ago, my teacher told me a story about a man whose death was hidden, in a needle, in an egg, in a bird. It was kept secret from everyone, including himself._

_I think he meant for it to be inspiring. A man who conquered death. But sometimes I thought about that bird, the heaviness of the burden it carried. I wondered - if only that man accepted death, maybe the bird would be able to fly freely again. I wondered if he ever longed for that missing piece of himself, or if he’d forgotten he’d lost anything to begin with._

_Maybe that’s why the leopard keeps climbing._

_One hundred steps to reach the top, and that burden will be gone. Then he can fly freely again._

_One hundred steps isn’t so bad. I can make it that far._

Sing pushed back from the desk, as though putting distance between himself and the screen might clear his mind of what he’d read. Ash’s words, maybe the final ones he’d recorded. It didn’t help soothe him - his skin rose up into uneasy goosebumps and he looked back to the door. That feeling, that instinct, that someone lingered there behind it hadn’t stopped. 

“Eiji?” Sing asked again, then paused and lowered his voice. “Ash?” He wasn’t sure why he said it, but his pulse quickened as soon as he did. 

There was only one way to get it out of his mind. He stood and crossed the distance to the door, placed his hand on the doorknob. It was stupid to let himself get so rattled - he could easily dispel the paranoia and would feel better once he saw that it was just Eiji moving about the apartment. 

Before he could open the door, Sing’s phone rang, a blaring jingle that startled the air out of him in a gasp. He drew back from the doorway and quickly fumbled, picked it up, eager to quiet the sound and pivot his mind away from Ash’s words fluttering through his mind. 

“Yeah?”

“Sing. It’s been a while.” Yut-Lung’s voice on the other end of the line was cool, even, and it was difficult to tell how he meant the statement. 

“Yeah, it’s been… things have been busy around here. I guess it has been a while.” Sing tried to remember the last time they’d spoken; time had been getting away from him, disappearing into the void of time spent lost in photos, seeking. 

“Right, you’ve been keeping yourself occupied. School has been going well for you then, I suppose?”

“I guess so. Did you need something?” He didn’t notice the curt impatience in his voice until he’d spoken, but Yut-Lung only laughed quietly. 

“You’re feeling unfriendly today.”

“Sorry. It’s been a long few weeks.”

“You’ve been rather… distracted recently.” 

It was an understatement and Sing almost laughed. He didn’t know how to explain the spiral of the last few weeks, his entire life collapsed into a singularity - into Ash Lynx. 

“Eiji hasn’t been well,” he said instead. 

It was a coded phrase that had taken on a larger meaning over the last two years; Yut-Lung had come to understand its purpose implicitly and softened his voice rather than question it. 

“I’ll leave you to him then.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“I suppose that depends on the question.”

“What do you think of… I don’t know, the supernatural?”

Yut-Lung stifled what sounded like a surprised laugh. 

“Are you asking me if I believe in an afterlife?”

“I don’t know. I guess so, yeah.” Sing stretched out, the question feeling silly once he’d vocalized it.

“I try not to ruminate too long on the existence of heaven or hell. I find that it gives me trouble sleeping.” A beat of silence passed. 

“What about ghosts?”

Yut-Lung’s voice was void of humor, crisp and precise in its response. 

“If I believed in ghosts, Sing, I’d never be able to sleep again.”

He gave brief pause. When he continued, his voice had warmed, just a little. 

“Memories are not ghosts - not unless you allow them to become so. It took me a long time to understand that, but I’m offering it to you freely. Please try to remember it.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Sing hung up the phone and hesitated only for a moment before shutting off the computer. He didn’t want to look at it any longer - the trip to Cape Cod had done a number on both of them, it seemed, and he already had too much to think about. It was early still, but being awake only gave him time to think, so he instead climbed into bed. All he wanted now was to lose himself in mindless sleep if he was able to find it. 

If he were fortunate enough to sleep, he knew he would find no rest in it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Ash is referring to here is Koschei the Deathless, an interesting piece of Russian folklore.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for this chapter - I learned how many stairs led up to the reading room in the NYPL because I decided to count them when I visited. Because I apparently like to make myself suffer. :)

Sing stared out across an open field. It was familiar, a facsimile of the open country landscape of Cape Cod, but unnaturally bright, colors so vibrant they were nearly blinding. 

It was so bright it was difficult, at first, to make out the two figures ahead of him - both silhouettes cast upon the curtain of sunlight gleaming down. 

He noticed Eiji first, only a short distance away, walking steadily and with purpose. He was younger, his hair cut short and his eyes alight with something Sing hadn’t seen in a long time. It was hard to tell what: life, joy, maybe even love. Sing tried to call out to him, to get his attention, but only found his voice replaced by silence. Eiji kept moving and, lacking any other way to reach him, Sing pursued. 

The path they took had a steep incline, mountainous and difficult terrain to traverse, though Eiji seemed to move across it gracefully even as Sing stumbled over his own steps. Faster still was the figure ahead, moving quickly enough that neither one could ever quite catch up. Once Sing’s vision adjusted, he could see that the further figure in the distance was Ash. His back was turned and he was walking away from both of them. 

The two of them moved faster, their pace growing increasingly frantic, and Sing found himself sprinting to keep them in sight. It wasn’t until he didn’t think he could move another step that Eiji and Ash finally came to a stop. 

At the top of the mountain there wasn’t a cliffside, a view out over the rest of the world, nothing to indicate how far they’d climbed. Instead, there was a shoreline, where waves should have been lapping at its edges in slow caresses. The beach tapered off like any ordinary shoreline, but instead of gentle rolling waves, it disintegrated into nothingness. A black unending abyss waited for them at the edge. 

Ash and Eiji had come up to that very edge, together now, standing face to face with one another and their mouths moving as they conversed. Sing couldn’t hear their words, but a familiar buzzing began to fill his ears as their conversation progressed. They finally separated, and Eiji turned to Sing, a smile lighting up his expression. 

“Eiji,” Sing said, finally able to find his voice. “Ash?”

Ash moved forward to be in step with Eiji. He slid his arms around Eiji from behind, a loving vice that pressed him against Ash’s chest. Firm, possessive, but so tender that Sing briefly looked away from them, as though it was intrusive to even witness such a gesture. When he did look back, Eiji met his eyes, a calm smile settling into his features. 

“He came back for me, Sing.”

Ash looked away from Eiji then, drew Sing’s gaze towards himself and made eye contact. He didn’t share the serenity Eiji possessed. His face was colored instead with something dark and sad, and Sing’s heart dropped. He realized what was happening before he understood it. Instinct pushed him forward and he moved with it. 

Ash’s grip around Eiji tightened. He took a step backward, into the nothingness behind him. Sing ran towards them, reached out to grab on to something, anything to keep them grounded, but his fingertips barely grazed as Ash and Eiji tipped back off of the cliff’s edge. 

Together, they fell into the abyss. 

  
  


In the morning, Sing understood what he needed to do. 

The two stone lions flanking the building looked enormous from below. Sing was reminded of the foo dog statues he used to see spattered around Chinatown, the creatures he’d hear stories of as a child. Protectors, he’d been told, that kept spirits from moving freely about, from entering places they weren’t welcome. But these, he noted to himself, weren’t the same creatures and they certainly weren’t going to protect anyone. 

It wasn’t his first time here, of course - it wasn’t even the first time in the intervening three years since he’d last visited with purpose. Sing didn’t go out of his way to avoid the library like Eiji did, he could accept that no single location made the void of Ash’s absence any more difficult. He would, however, be remiss to admit if he didn’t sometimes avert his eyes as he passed. 

Facing it now, it felt foreign to him. 

The first specks of daylight were washing across the banks of the skyline and the raucous crowd grew with it; few people lingered on the stone steps. The building had only opened a short while ago and was already thriving with activity. After only a brief moment of uncertainty, Sing made his decision. 

He approached the incline towards the building and began to walk towards it. As he ascended, a quiet tally ticked in his head. Try as he might to shut it off, it persisted. 

_One, two, three steps upward._

He made his way inside, took in his surroundings. The crowd dispersing around him faded into static buzz surrounding him. Despite being older, physically much larger than when he’d last been inside the building, the grandiose interior still made him feel small. Towering candelabras shone down onto the large hall, left long streaking shadows that looked like bars encasing the people they passed over. 

Sing didn’t linger there in the shadows; he pivoted towards the next set of stairs and continued his ascent. A strange weariness was beginning to settle in over him, with every step he felt a little more light headed, a bit more disoriented with his surroundings, which began to mesh into a blur of lights and people. 

_Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two._

Other occupants were moving up and down the stairs, a stream of bodies that moved past him. Sing swam through like moving against a current. He was swallowed up by the sounds of their steps, their voices faded into indistinct murmurs. None of them looked at him, even as his steps became more labored. 

_Fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two._

He let his hand trail along the railing and didn’t meet the eyes of anyone that passed him. To him, they were faceless. Their shadows, cast upon the walls like ashen silhouettes, seemed to be watching him. He tried to take in a soothing breath, but it hitched in the back of his throat. 

_Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two._

A pain seized him suddenly, almost caused him to stop his motion; his abdomen, cramping with a sharp, biting sting. He held his hand against the spot and continued; he knew that pain, he’d worked through that pain before. 

_Ninety-eight, ninety-nine…_

One hundred steps and he’d finally reached the top. 

At the top of the staircase, he paused, seized by a sudden inertia, like the sensation of blood draining out of him. His limbs felt heavy and tired, he was overcome with an exhaustion that lulled him onwards, just wanting to find a place to rest. He shook off the feeling and stepped forward. 

He heard it, then. A humming sound, and this time he didn’t need to question what he was hearing, that familiar lure. It was coming from the door to his right, which led to the reading room, which led to…

Everything felt so heavy. The brief thought of Eiji propelled him forward; he needed to see this through, for Eiji’s sake. What other reason was he even doing this anymore? The thoughts settled into him uncomfortably, as though they belonged to someone else. Thoughts from divergent paths but overtaken by a shared devotion. The world around him struggled to remain in focus. 

The reading room, that’s where the sound was coming from. Sing moved forward with determination, ignoring the pain pulsing through him, the disorienting weariness, the way his breath caught in his throat. He passed through its doors and it was almost completely empty.

Sing was caught by how beautiful the interior of the reading room was, even in its simplicity. The lane of tile along the floor was lined with long tables and the perimeter enclosed by stone and walls of books. The ceiling, a vision of a clear blue sky, just like he’d remembered, just like he dreamed, and his eyes drifted up to take it in, away from the tables and bookshelves.

 _No, don’t look._ An echo of a memory in the back of his mind, the sound of Eiji’s voice from his dreams that had urged him to look away. He could almost still feel the droplets that had fallen down across his face, half expected the painted sky to darken and open up to pour down onto him. 

With some effort, he pulled his attention away, back to his surroundings.

It was almost completely empty, except for one seat. Sitting there, with their back to the entrance, was a young blond, all the way in the back of the room and almost out of sight. Sing moved quickly then and the humming in his ears became louder, his heartbeat so rapid it might have just exploded out of his chest right there. 

He closed the distance between them, but slowed as the figure came into clearer view. He approached with caution, until he was within arm’s length, and then he stopped himself short. Logic told him that this was absurd, told him to turn back, to leave this whole thing alone. Something else beckoned him to reach out and try, to see if he was really there or a mere apparition of Sing’s own imagination. He reached out, a little closer, until his fingers could almost brush against their shoulder. 

He pulled his hand back. Cowardice overtook him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. As he turned away from the figure, another form came into immediate view. One of the librarians, a young woman who approached him with concern written across her face. 

“Excuse me, can I help you with something?” 

Whatever spell had taken a hold of him was broken. With his head clear and his breath comfortably moving through his lungs once more, his heartbeat settled into its steady, though labored, thumping, Sing cast a sheepish look downward. 

“No, I was… just checking to see if a friend was here. I’ll be leaving now.”

Sing walked past her, and he didn’t want to stop. He didn’t want to look back and see if the figure at the table was still sitting there, unnoticed and unacknowledged by the woman who spoke to him. But like the urgent need that led him here, he felt a tug of curiosity that compelled him to look back, one last time. The seat was empty, and Sing let out a shaky breath before turning away and pushing onward. 

Something struck him, then, sunk beneath his skin in pinpricks of anxiety. Something that was half instinct, half memory of the heaviness of a cold hand resting on his shoulder, the tingle of a breathless whisper against the back of his neck. 

_You have to go now._

Eiji. 

It settled into his mind, this fear, this borderline terror that was both part of himself and separate from him. He knew it was senseless and still it gnawed at him, as he rushed down the steps to get himself as far away from here as possible. He needed to get back home. He needed to get to Eiji. 

He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain this to him, but he needed to try, he needed to ensure Eiji got the sign he had been searching for. And he had a sinking feeling that he was running out of time. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gorgeous artwork for this chapter created by [Xylo](https://twitter.com/XYLOshachar)! Show them some love for the amazing work they did on this!

Sing entered the apartment and while nothing was visibly out of the ordinary, the anxiety that had seized him in the library persisted, cold and insidious. 

Everything was wrong. From the sounds to the scents, to the crackling static running circles in his head, Sing was outpaced by how _wrong_ it all felt. He should have checked on Eiji sooner, shouldn’t have left him alone, and now he could only consider the stifling silence that greeted him. Because over time his hyper-vigilance towards Eiji's well-being had worn itself down to a keen but lazy awareness. Because Sing had allowed himself to become comfortable with silence, he’d forgotten what silence meant at its worst. 

He scanned the room, looking for Eiji, for the familiar sight of him engaged with any of the things Sing used to come home to before all of this started, even to see him quietly poring over his photos, anything that would quell his fears. 

After a brief assessment of the kitchen and dining room, he moved through them in pursuit. When he reached the living room, he paused in momentary relief. 

Eiji was there, at the table, photos strewn around him. He was facing away and seemingly too distracted to notice Sing’s approach, and as Sing came closer, more of his surroundings came into view. Next to Eiji, an open bottle of wine, in front of him, the gentle flicker of a candle. Eiji picked up one of the photos and held it to the flame. As it ignited, Sing moved to put a stop to whatever it was that was happening. 

He quickly moved to where Eiji sat, pulling a hand towel off the kitchen rack as he passed, and quickly smothered the burning photograph. At this level, he could see that there was enough grime and ash on the table to suggest he had been at this for a bit already. 

The second thing that caught his attention: the alcohol. Sing pulled the bottle off of the table, away from Eiji, though was surprised by its weight. It seemed most of it was gone already. He cast another uncertain look in Eiji’s direction, who had barely reacted to his presence. 

“Are you drunk?” 

Eiji didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. The flushed redness of his face, the hazy faraway look in his eyes told him that he was already gone. Sing regarded him, a secondary moment of panic threatening to take over. 

“Did you take anything else?”

Eiji didn’t answer this either, and Sing’s eyes darted among the items on the table. Nothing dangerous jumped out at him and so he redirected his attention. 

“Eiji, what are you doing?” He expected just as little of a response to this as he’d gotten to his other questions, but to his surprise, Eiji let out a small, choked sob in response. 

“I can’t look at him anymore…”

It wasn’t until then that Sing bothered to look down at the photos that were scattered around - most of them were the ones that Eiji had been taking over the past weeks, but another one caught his eye. A much older one, that pictured Ash in their old condo, a small and quiet moment that seemed incredibly intimate. Eiji reached for it and Sing grabbed his arm to still his hand before he could move any further. 

“Eiji, stop! I… I realized something. About Ash.”

“Please don’t.”

“I think Ash… knew something was going to happen.”

Eiji went completely limp for a moment, such a cold clarity coming through in his voice that it seemed to chill the air around them. 

“Of course he knew, Sing. _Everyone_ knew. Every single person who ever met us told him I’d be his downfall.”

He paused, and in the strained silence, Sing searched for a response, but faltered. Because it had been true, in the eyes of so many people both Ash and Eiji had trusted. That their feelings were destructive, that they were dragging each other down. Sing was guilty of having thought the exact same thing himself. Shame stifled him until Eiji finally spoke again. 

“I developed all the photos. Everything. There was nothing in those photos. There never was. All these do is remind me of that.”

Eiji moved to grab another one of the photos, to move towards the still burning flame. 

Sing had no words to respond to the situation that was unfolding, so instead he moved. Quicker than Eiji could react, he seized his wrists to pull them back from the flames and halt any further destruction. When Eiji tried to free himself, Sing wrapped his arms fully around Eiji’s small frame, holding him in place as Eiji shook and thrashed against him. 

Eiji was small, but his sudden motion surprised Sing enough to throw them both off balance. They tumbled to the floor together, Eiji still enclosed in Sing’s grasp. Pinned beneath Sing, Eiji no longer struggled, his thrashing finally calming down to the gentle shake of his quiet sobbing. 

“We were so close to figuring things out. Don’t give up now. Your first photo…”

“The photo isn’t real.”

Sing stilled then, caught so off-guard he almost let Eiji go right then. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“That camera we found in storage. It was from the condo I used to live in, with… It had film in it still. I thought it was brand new, but I guess it did have one photo taken on it, before I’d left the US.” He paused, a pitch of hysteria creeping into his voice. “It was a double exposure. A new photo on top of an old one. I realized that last night, after we got home. After I looked through all the photos again.”

Sing sat there, stunned into silence, and Eiji began to shake again. It took Sing a moment to realize that Eiji’s crying hadn’t resumed; no, he was laughing instead. 

“I really was childish enough to believe in it, though. That Ash would come back here, just for me.”

Sing couldn’t overlook the irony of it, incinerating Ash’s memory into cinders, the grimy, messy remnants hanging in the air all around them. A sick, pained laugh bubbled up in his chest and threatened to break through. 

A long minute passed before he had willed away the waver in his voice and he trusted himself enough to speak. 

“Eiji, you’re going to regret it if you destroy these. I promise you. Don’t look at them again, put them away forever if you have to. But you’ll hate yourself if you don’t have them anymore.”

Low mumbling filled the air as Eiji spoke quickly and quietly, his words a racing blur of Japanese that Sing could only piece together the more his voice looped through its strange circuit. He caught the fragments slowly, letting them turn over in his mind. 

“He didn’t come back for me.” The same phrase, over and over again. 

His words hit Sing like ice. Because Eiji had said that same thing, once before. Back when he first returned to New York. Back when Sing had returned to a silent apartment and found Eiji mostly unconscious and delirious in his room. Back when he’d taken more than too many of the sleeping pills he’d been prescribed, back when Sing didn’t understand a word of Japanese and couldn’t make sense of the unintelligible babble Eiji had been uttering as he drifted in and out of consciousness. _Why isn’t he here? He was supposed to come back for me, to bring me with him._

The sign that it was time to move on, that it had been long enough. The sleepless nights, his talk of happier dreams. The open drawer, the gun. Sing understood now. 

Eiji had never been searching for a reason to move forward with his life. He had been seeking permission to end it. 

Thoughts sped through his mind quicker than he could spit them out. The jumble of words in his mouth instead came through in erratic intervals before Sing could regain control over them. 

“No no no, Eiji… Of course not. He wouldn’t want - he knows that… you need to be here, you need to stay right here. You know how hopeless I'd be without you.” He tightened his arms around Eiji, hyper aware of how light he seemed, how small, how easily he could slip right through them. 

This wasn’t the Eiji of his dreams that dissipated into wisps of smoke. This Eiji was warm and solid in his arms, made of flesh and blood, tears and impulses. This one he could hold on to, this one he could keep from tipping over into that dark void. 

Eiji’s body was limp beneath him. He no longer seemed to need to be restrained but Sing didn’t quite feel comfortable letting go. Instead, he shifted, rolled onto the side with his arms still secured around him; Eiji didn’t resist the movement and allowed himself to shift with the motion. 

They stayed like that for a long time, immobilized by the heaviness of truth, as though moving might cause them to be crushed under its weight. After some time, Sing loosened his hold around Eiji, pulled himself up to a sitting position. Eiji didn’t move, and so Sing gently pulled him up as well, lifted him to stand while completely supporting his weight through each unsteady movement. 

He walked Eiji as far as the couch before laying him back down and propping one of the pillows beneath his head. Eiji regarded him uncertainly, and Sing knelt beside him. His heart hadn’t stopped racing but he tried to keep himself calm, he didn’t want to agitate Eiji any further, not when he finally seemed to be coming back to his senses. 

“I’m okay, Sing,” Eiji said, his voice tired, already drifting. “You don’t need to stay.”

“I don’t want to leave you here by yourself. Not like… this.” Sing didn’t clarify but Eiji’s eyes flashed with understanding. He raised his eyes to meet Sing’s directly. 

“I’m not going to kill myself, Sing.” Eiji’s glassy eyes were only half as bad as the ghastly smile he offered as means of comfort. “What would be the point?” With that, he closed his eyes and said nothing further. 

Eiji rested on the couch, dulled by the wine and exhausted by the crying. As he slept, Sing cleaned up what was left behind in the dining room, like he was scrubbing evidence from a crime scene. It was best if Eiji didn’t see any of it when he woke. 

He left the photos of Ash for last. Picking each one up meticulously, he looked at them, at the light in his eyes that he’d only ever shown to Eiji, the sadness that came through despite his best efforts to hide it. He put each of the photos away in a box, and he took care to make sure he appreciated each one in case he was the last to ever be able to see them. Because he knew that Eiji couldn’t see him, shouldn’t see him, until he had a reason to survive. 

If Ash was there, in any capacity, Sing hoped he realized that too. Better that Sing hold those memories, that ghost of the past. The soot on his hands and the ache in his chest, he’d carry all of it. 

One more echo rattled around in the depths of his mind, unable to be shaken even in the harsh morning light. _He can hear you._

“Leave him alone,” Sing said, pleaded to the open air around him. “Please. You’re _hurting_ him.”

Speaking aloud to Ash like this felt ridiculous in the light of day - he couldn’t afford to be afraid of such things in the daytime. He knew better. The things that haunted Sing at night, he couldn’t afford to give voice to them come the morning. Not while the living still needed his attention. 

At night he could see the situation for what it was, reality enclosed around him in the same manner with which he boxed up Ash’s photos. They remained tethered, imprisoned together, Ash as his warden and Sing his keeper. The rest was simply his imagination. 

He’d tell himself that, no matter what. 

If he felt what seemed like breath on the back of his neck, he knew it was just a warm breeze drifting in through the window. The sound of rustling in the darkness outside of his bedroom window at night, a bird flying freely past. If he saw a shadow creeping in the corner of his vision, just out of sight, he knew it was nothing more than a trick of the light. 

If he ever noticed a blond stranger in any of Eiji’s photos, faced away from the camera but just the right height and frame to beckon one to question, to dare someone to follow him and find out - he knew better than to say a word to Eiji. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to leave a little bit of ambiguity in the end about the possibility of a haunting, but I would love to hear any and all thoughts from you if you have been reading along this far. <3 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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